


A Sorta Fairytale

by Kanja



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/F, Gen, allura and pidge have a badass friendship, but dammit i want cute nervous girlfriends, everyone has a lot of growing to do, girl power endures, i sure do love a good fairytale premise, lance all but doffs a fedora, not an au, severe liberties taken with the princess's characterization, this is not what the creators intended at all, tmw maybe you're a little jealous of your bestie, tmw you'd commit a diplomatic catastrophe to protect your bestie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 18:44:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14455470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanja/pseuds/Kanja
Summary: Pidge is invited to escort Princess Malocoti to the Coalition Ball. Unbeknownst to her, Allura and the Krillian princess have an old rivalry to settle. With Pidge caught in the middle, there's no conceivable way this can turn out well—but her friends are determined to see her through, no matter what kind of strings they have to pull.





	A Sorta Fairytale

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so glad I'm not the only shipping trash who bounced off to write a fic for these two the moment they read the comics. Sniff sniff this place feels like home.

Allura was, as usual, the first to notice the castle's communicator mirrping for attention. The issue was that she'd recently (as of thirty minutes ago) taught Pidge the rules of Altea's national game of strategy, Primsby, and of those thirty minutes, Pidge had dedicated twenty to trumping every gambit Allura tried to demonstrate

 

“This one _works_ ,” Allura insisted, pressing one of her white keys to turn the adjoining pieces black. “There. Now there's an impenetrable field of black squares surrounding my alpha piece—”

 

“—which leaves me to take this corner of the board with the white betas I positioned three plays ago,” Pidge announced proudly. The color drained from Allura's face, and for once, she was glad her comrades did not speak Altean, because the expletives she choose to employ were less than generous.

 

Infuriatingly, Pidge replied, “It's not an _allergy_ , they just give me dry mouth.”

 

“Oh, you just know everything, don't you?” Allura muttered bitterly. “Now if you'll excuse me. This is likely important royal business.”

 

Pidge shrugged and reset the board. Allura muttered to herself and dashed a few keys, alighting a screen on the holo-HUD. The face projected there was familiar enough.

 

“Princess Malocoti! Now this is a surprise. How do you and your proud kingdom fare?”

 

“Oh, everything is simply lovely here, darling. And your— Ah. Please excuse my dreadful memory.” Malocoti’s eyes flashed with something that was _not_ genuine concern. “You look well, princess.”

 

“Me!” Allura laughed, employing the silvery, jingling laugh that she used for insufferable nobility. “You are a rare sight indeed. And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

 

“I think I knooooooowww…!”

 

Allura fought every instinct she had to scream as Lance materialized out of thin air, manifesting with his elbow leaned against the console, his teeth bared and glittering.

 

“Actually, this is in regards to the Coalition Ball. We've made all of the arrangements—save for one, that is.”

 

Allura shooed Lance away, giving him one good whomp when he dragged his ass. “And that is?” she asked.

 

“There is the matter of my royal escort,” Malocoti said, and Allura heard Lance vibrating off in the corner with anxious, giddy energy that his small frame would not be able to contain for long. “I owe one of your paladins an immense debt of gratitude, you see, and I'd hoped—”

 

There was no fighting him now. Lance all but draped himself across Allura’s lap in his rush to accept the princess's offer, and more power to him. Allura could think of no more suitable match for him than a self-possessed princess who never gave any quarter to anyone. Lance would be beating at the bulwarks of her permafrost facade until the birth of the next Yalex, and good. It was almost like hiring a babysitter.

 

“I'm here, m’lady,” Lance said in his Suave Lady's Man Voice, leaning toward the camera. “And here I thought I'd never see your—”

 

“Who is this!” Malocoti snapped, struggling to see around Lance. “Get him away!”

 

“What!” Lance yelped. Allura felt bad enough for him to smooth back his hair and tsk sadly as she shoved him out of the frame.

 

“Which paladin did you mean?” Allura asked, suddenly aware of encroaching footsteps coming up behind her. The second Pidge stepped forward, Malocoti dropped all pretenses of political cattery and smiled genuinely. Allura almost did not recognize the affectation on her.

 

“I heard of your trials,” she said, pressing a hand to the screen. “If only I could have been there to see them in person.”

 

“It was over pretty quickly,” Pidge said with a shrug. “Nothing really cool happened until we got to the moon.”

 

“Nothing at all…?” Malocoti murmured, her smile twitching at each corner.

 

“Saving you was pretty fun,” Pidge said after a beat.

 

“So many suitors came to find and rescue me, and each and every one of them fell victim to that wicked illusion. But regardless of my form, you saw me,” Malocoti insisted. “I would like to take you to the banquet, as my escort.”

 

“Sure,” Pidge said at the same time Allura said, “Juuuuust a tick! Pidge is an _earthling_. These banquets exist as a forum for the leaders of our alliance, of which Pidge can take no part.”

 

“She's a paladin,” Malocoti pointed out.

 

“And a grown adult,” Pidge insisted.

 

Allura scoffed. “And what if she chooses to accompany _her_ princess over Krill’s?”

 

“What?” both parties asked in unison. Pidge was assailed by the sweet scent of Allura's hair and skin as the princess dragged an arm around her shoulders, clasping Pidge to her side with vice-like strength.

 

“What the hell!” Lance growled petulantly. “ _I'm_ the one you two should be fighting over!”

 

“Yeah,” Pidge agreed. “Fight over him. I'm not the... banquet type.”

 

“Nor am I,” Malocoti assured her, frowning when Allura interrupted with disdainful giggling. “The choice is yours, Sir Pidge. Whether you join me at the banquet or not, I would be thrilled to hear your personal account of the trials you endured. You are...the most fascinating creature I've ever come to know.”

 

Pidge wasn't aware that she was grinning, lopsided and glowing, but Allura sure was. She muttered beneath her breath, her face twisted.

 

“Okayyyyy,” she sang, striking a few holokeys. “ _Great_ catching up with you, your highness! Good luck with the escort! Ta-ta!”

 

“Th—” Malocoti began to say, but the vid closed on her, the HUD fading away.

 

“You certainly dodged a Quivian combustible arrow there, Pidge,” Allura told her, grinning so hard that her jaw was aching. Pidge wasn't taking the bait, staring at her impassively. “Imagine, you would have been stuck with _that_ for an entire night!”

 

“You always take Coran to those banquets,” Pidge said finally, slipping out of Allura's grasp. “Why did you pretend that you wanted to take me?”

 

“Well, to get you out of it, of course,” Allura laughed hollowly.

 

“Now I **have** to go. And now I have to choose between you or her,” Pidge stated flatly.

 

“Pidge!” Allura gasped. “You sound as if you're cross with me.”

 

“Forget it,” Pidge muttered, stalking away down the hall. Allura watched her go, something twisting sickly in her gut. Whatever this was, it was too sudden and foreign to make any sense, so she turned to the board, glad for something that was tried and true and perfectly logical.

 

And arranged in such a way that her opponent took the board no matter which piece Allura moved. Her irritable shriek could be heard all the way to the pools, echoing down the halls, silenced only by the vacuum of space.

 

* * *

 

 

“I can't believe it,” Lance said, hunched over his plate like a wounded dog. “I can't believe it.”

 

“Why does he keep saying that?” Keith growled, pounding a fist on the table to snap him out of it.

 

“I can't believe it,” Lance went on, unfettered.

 

“Stop it!!”

 

“It's me,” Pidge murmured quietly. Her gaze trailed to the other table, where Allura was very pointedly seated away from the rest of them, and very, _very_ pointedly not returning her glances.

 

“ _You?”_ Keith asked, then slammed the table again. “Lance, **shut** **_up_ **!”

 

“Yes, her!” Lance cried, burying his face in his hands. “Not one but _two princesses_ warring for her heart—”

 

The table silently shifted its collective gaze toward Pidge, who shrank beneath their stare, grumbling.

 

“Not my heart,” she clarified. “It's some political thing. I think Allura and Malocoti pulled me into a ten thousand year old rivalry.”

 

“Pidge,” Hunk said, draping a heavy arm around her, “I'm gonna need you to play this to our advantage.”

 

“Yeah!” Lance said, suddenly reenergized. “I bet she's got some juicy dirt on Allura.”

 

Keith was silent for a few more moments as Lance and Hunk went back and forth with the possibilities. Pidge glanced at him quizzically, and he spoke up:

 

“Do you want to go?”

 

“Of course she does!” Lance interjected. “A _whole_ _night_ surrounded by cute princesses in fancy dresses and fancy food and—”

 

“I wasn't _asking you_ ,” Keith snarled, and Pidge shrugged.

 

“I do kind of want to see her,” she said quietly. “I don't know how to explain it. It's not like I know her very well.”

 

Keith shot Lance a Look, and for once, Lance was quiet.

 

“Well, what's stoppin’ ya?” Hunk asked, grinning wide.

 

“Allura doesn't seem to be too happy about it,” Pidge whispered. They all glanced as one toward the other table, where Shiro was holding his arms out defensively as Allura sneered and shouted and waved an angrily ticking finger in his face.

 

“If she touches even one hair on his head…” Keith muttered.

 

“No killing the princess, Keith,” Hunk chastised him. “And know what Pidge? We'll figure something out. You deserve a night on the town. Go and enjoy yourself and leave the angry princess to us.”

 

“You mean it?” Pidge asked, smiling wanely up at him.

 

“If she makes it to the banquet,” Keith muttered, brow twitching.

 

“Pretty sure that's treason, Keith. And yeah,” Hunk said, ruffling Pidge’s hair until she had to draw away and fix it, her grumbles concealing a small and hopeful smile. “You can count on us.”

 

* * *

 

 

One week later, Pidge almost wished she _didn't_ have such supportive friends. She found herself on edge every morning, exhausted from sneaking around and spending so much time in the company of others, but there was no end to the tasks that needed doing before the banquet. Keith had been the one to make contact with a good armorer, which was five trips in itself for measurements and fitting. Hunk knew more about this high society business than she had, taking it upon himself to lead covert missions to Krill in order to collect cultural intel that would grant Pidge a passing amount of political tact.

 

But Lance was the worst. By far the worst.

 

“This is a disaster,” he said into the palm of his hand. “Which is your _dominant_ foot, Pidge?”

 

“I'm ambidextrous?” she replied quizzically.

 

“Not when you're _leading_ , you're not.”

 

“I'd think a good leader would be flexible.”

 

“No, no, no!” Lance snapped, kicking the toe of her left boot.

 

“Ow! Lance, this isn't—”

 

“ _Don't judge my methods_ ,” Lance sneered with uncharacteristic pathos. Pidge was stunned into silent compliance. “Right foot forward. Your _dominant_ foot. And… one, and two—

 

Pidge nearly went spinning out onto the floor again, crunching Lance's toes in the process. “I'm all backwards now!” she snapped.

 

“Your sense of direction is backwards!”

 

The training room door buzzed open, and Hunk wandered in with a silver box, his head shaking in disbelief.

 

“Don't mess with Krillian florists,” he said, staring as his friends struggled to untangle themselves on the floor. “And I thought the Mu were bad. Pretty sure I owe my firstborn for this.”

 

Pidge grinned as Hunk easily lifted her to her feet, doing the same for Lance.

 

“What is it?” she asked, standing on her tiptoes. Hunk clicked the seal and cold air drafted like smoke from the hinges, dispersing as he opened the lid and showed off the glowing bloom inside.

 

“It's a _mabonezze_ ,” Hunk told her. “This one has Malocoti’s royal colors too. I had them make it into a corsage for you so you could give her a little taste of Earth culture.”

 

“Wow,” Pidge said quietly, her face warming. She'd never considered anything so thoughtful, nor had the implications of all of this laid out in simple, _human_ terms. In the back of her mind, she knew what this arrangement was _like_ , but it hadn't occurred to her to make the connection explicitly yet. “... This is my first dance.”

 

“Awww,” Lance drawled. “Too bad you've got two left feet.”

 

Pidge fumed, but before she could get too discouraged, Hunk closed the box and took her hand. “You should be great at dancing, Pidge,” he said, backing up a few steps, “it's all math.”

 

“Oh no!” Lance yelled. “You two are **not** going to nerd up dancing!”

 

“If you visualize your steps,” he said, “it's simple geometry. The point is to adjust the angle of your feet to ensure that every plane is parallel to the steps your partner takes.”

 

Lance dramatically fell to the floor, groaning, as Hunk lead her through a few simple steps.

 

“I get it,” Pidge said, grinning so hard that her face was beginning to hurt.

 

“I'll be the judge of that,” Lance declared, hands held aloft as Hunk passed Pidge to their friend. With Lance counting down each step, Pidge was able to follow along this time, and with her newly mastered understanding of beat and placement, added her own twist and slid her hands down Lance's back and held him tight as he leaned over her grip, arms outstretched.

 

“Yeah, okay, you're fine,” Lance relented, wobbling back to his feet with a flourish. “A little too short to lead, but you'll do okay.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“You looked great out there,” Hunk said, grinning as he tossed her a towel.

 

“Thanks,” Pidge said, eyes shifting as she tried to find the words she knew should come next. “... I mean it. You guys…”

 

“Don't mention it,” Lance said, hand thudding on her back as he passed her by.

 

“It's what we're here for,” Hunk said, ruffling her hair as they followed through the door, laughing and quipping and falling all over one another all the way down the hall.

 

* * *

 

 

“I feel like we're here to kill someone,” Pidge said uncertainly, glancing suspiciously around the alley. They'd had to leap in here, as per Keith's instructions, waiting forever for the road to empty of witnesses.

 

“ _Not_ ,” Keith fumed through gritted teeth, “the kind of word you wanna be saying right now.” His eyes slid back and forth, then he raised his fists and knocked an erratic beat on the brick wall.

 

There was a commotion on the other side.

 

“Iced nunvill,” Keith hissed.

 

“Red or black label?” came the voice from the other side.

 

Pidge arched a brow, and Keith narrowed his eyes at her.

 

“Black.”

 

He stepped aside as an opening appeared in the bricks, swinging wide to allow them passage. Keith shoved Pidge forward, who mumbled but could not help her curiosity, and rushed in after her.

 

“What's with all the secrecy?” Pidge muttered. “I don't get it.”

 

“Don't get it!” came an irritable voice from behind a mannequin. A mannequin of _what_ , Pidge could not quite discern, and the creature that stepped out was just as baffling. It had seven long arms, or at least, Pidge thought those were arms, with beady black eyes that were mostly obscured by snowy, bushy fur. “You've _obviously_ never been to those wretched swap moons. The Unilu don't care for form or function, only stealing ideas and mass producing _artless tripe_ for profit!”

 

“S-Sorry?” Pidge squeaked, glancing to Keith for support. She found him with his fists clenching, teeth gritted.

 

“Once the Galra empire has been decimated,” he declared, “I'll make sure those who prey on the artisans are brought to justice.”

 

“That's my boy!” the artisan bellowed, wrapping three of those mysterious appendages around Keith and gesturing to Pidge with the rest. “I take it this is our subject?”

 

Keith nodded. “Get a load of this,” he said, leading Pidge to a bulky, her-sized shape concealed beneath a white tarp.

 

“She isn't ready,” warned the artisan.

 

“No one is,” Keith agreed, and pulled the tarp aside.

 

For what it was worth, Pidge _wasn't_ ready. What hid beneath was something crafted entirely out of metal, like the armor of a medieval knight from all those RPGs she'd played in the past, but it was lighter, more fluid, the steel streamlined to cut a proud and shapely silhouette. The torso was a masterpiece of small, interlocking components, which were shaped like leaves and gleamed in all the colors of the fall. There were _mabonezzes_ engraved into the pauldrons as well, leading Pidge to believe that Keith and Hunk had coordinated here and unable to truly describe how it made her feel to know the effort all her friends had put into this.

 

“Allow her five ticks to weep,” said the artisan.

 

“She can weep on her own time,” Keith said. Pidge felt his hand on her shoulder. “What do you think?”

 

“I…” Lost for words, Pidge threw her arms around his chest instead, burying her face. “Thank you.”

 

She felt his hand tentatively touching one of her shoulders. “Don't sweat it. I was in great company.”

 

“You've told her about your own work, I take it?” the artisan asked, his voice rising like a song. Pidge looked up in time to see Keith gesturing fitfully for him to shut up.

 

“You're secret’s safe with me,” she promised, and thought she saw a small smile on his face.

 

* * *

 

 

The one thing preventing Pidge from riding cloud nine straight through the rest of the week was Allura. The princess kept her distance, sure, but there were still those awkward moments in the halls or on missions. The castle was huge, but one could only get so far away from their problems, especially if they were with someone so distinct as she. If it had not been for all the effort Lance, Hunk, and Keith had expended on her behalf, Pidge would have given up long ago just to make her happy.

 

To be perfectly honest, she missed the princess. In her idle hours, she absently brought up the Primsby board again, running through Allura's gambits one by one, which felt almost like playing against her, sans one essential component. It turned out that capturing a grid wasn't half as entertaining when there was no princess there to fume and stomp over it. Rewiring wheelchairs was a bore when there was no one to race, and spinning pathetically in zero gravity might as well have been a Wednesday in Iverson’s drill class for all the fun she was having alone.

 

The lull seemed to have affected Allura too, who appeared at her door the night of the banquet, gazing sheepishly at her feet and unwilling to barge in like she usually did. Pidge invited her inside, glad to see her. Keith had helped her into her armor, Shiro had clipped and styled her hair, Lance had run her through a few last minute steps, and Hunk had packed away the corsage, but she still did not feel ready at all.

 

Allura's teeth were gritting, like something very mean was tearing its way out, but she quietly said, “Pidge. You look amazing.”

 

“So do you,” Pidge said, giving her robes a cursory glance. It really didn't matter what Allura wore; she always looked something like a dream, the aesthetics of her too impossibly beautiful to make any sort of earthly sense.

 

“Is that Uniluan?” Allura asked, taking a cautious step forward. Pidge laughed, and Allura snickered, and then it was okay for the princess to run her hand over the fine metal plates.

 

“Don't let Keith hear you say that.”

 

“I always forget which secrets I'm not supposed to know,” Allura said, her voice a song in a mischievous key. “But I mean it. You look exquisite, and it has little to do with the armor.”

 

“Maybe it's the guys.” Pidge spoke without thinking, but once the words were out there, she couldn't stop. “This entire week, they've believed in me so much, it's made it hard for me to not believe in myself.”

 

Allura was silent for a moment. “It was wrong for me to not be a part of that.”

 

“You're allowed to do what you want.”

 

“As are you, and I should have respected your autonomy, regardless of my feelings on the matter.”

 

Pidge sighed and took her arm and sat down with her on the bed.

 

“I'm sure you have some legitimate concerns,” she admitted.

 

Allura shook her head. “I don't want to sound as if I'm attempting to discourage you.”

 

“I'm in too deep now,” Pidge said, shrugging. “Discourage away.”

 

“Malocoti never liked me,” Allura muttered, gaze dropping to their neighboring hands. “Our fathers were good friends, but whenever I would go to the castle to play, she would disappear into her room and refuse to come out. I felt so unwanted, and telling her father only further embittered the relationship between us.”

 

“Take away the castle and this sounds pretty familiar,” Pidge mumbled, managing to work a quiet laugh out of Allura.

 

“Pidge, you are the most capable out of all of us. Your intellect is incomparable, your foresight and sensibilities nothing short of legendary. You simply have too much to offer to be _used_ in a rivalry that has naught to do with you.”

 

“And if she's not just using me to piss you off?” Pidge asked, the words falling out of her, her face burning in the aftershock.

 

Allura's frown twitched. “I've never seen that woman care for anything,” she said, “but if anyone could pull off a miracle such as that, it would be you.” She squeezed Pidge's hand. “And I would be happy for you.”

 

Pidge thought for a silent moment, then squeezed her back. “Thanks for trying to protect me. I should've got that's what you were doing all along.” Their eyes met, and Pidge grinned. “Guess my foresight isn't legendary after all, huh?”

 

“Let's not take any of that literally,” Allura murmured, intrigued. “Do not forget that we are bitter rivals.”

 

“Hardly,” Pidge said with a snort. “When we get back, let's take it to the Primsby board.”

 

“Oh, you are _on_ , paladin,” Allura sneered, and it felt good to be the subject of her ire again. _Everything_ felt good, and for a moment, Pidge almost forgot that she was a few ticks away from being scrutinized by the most powerful leaders in the Galaxy.

 

Almost.

 

* * *

 

 

The gravity of it hit her in the foyer. All guests were made to stand at the top of the ambling staircase, which was comprised of a glittering cold stone that swept over the plaza by order of some unfathomable physics that Pidge was too anxious to contemplate. As Malocoti’s servant rambled off name after name after title after title of all the people before them, Pidge cleared her throat and realized with abject horror that she'd forgotten how to walk. And where did her hands go? And…

 

Oh, right.

 

“I...got you something,” she said, finding it impossible to speak through a suddenly very dry throat. Malocoti had been silent all this time, and answered her only in a sideways glance.

 

 _This is stupid_ , Pidge suddenly realized. _She's going to think this is stupid, and then I'm gonna look stupid in front of this entire crowd._

 

“What is it?” Malocoti finally asked, causing Pidge to jump a foot out of her skin.

 

“O-Oh, it's just— Well, it's a— It's just this little—”

 

With horror, Pidge realized that her hands were sweating. Not just sweating, but squeaking conspicuously on the box.

 

“It's from earth!” she blurted. “Well, in the style of something from earth, anyway. It's called a…”

 

What was the name _what was the name—_

 

“Oh,” Malocoti said, eyes drifting to and fro.

 

“Corsage!” Pidge declared, a decibel too loud and a beat too late. “That's what it's called. See, you open it up and you pin…”

 

“Oh!” Malocoti yelped.

 

“Is something wrong!?” Pidge demanded.

 

“No! No, it's beautiful!”

 

They were drawing stares now with all their hushed shouting.

 

“I'll put it on!?” Pidge cried, panicking.

 

“Where?” Malocoti asked. “I mean, yes!”

 

“Okay!” Pidge tried with all her might to work her trembling fingers on the pin. Nightmares flashed through her head of piercing the princess's skin through her gown, destroying all the hard-fought alliances they'd forged over one stupid flower.

 

But that didn't happen. Pidge had a good eye, even in the most hectic, high-pressure conditions, and the pin settled prettily against Malocoti's dress. The princess looked at the flower, then at Pidge, and fell silent.

 

 _Oh_ , Pidge thought, unsure if she was disappointed or relieved. At least if the princess insisted on being cold and impassive, Pidge knew what to expect. She supposed that the rivalry between the princesses had been a factor in Malocoti's request after all, but that was okay. She'd been warned, after all.

 

The pair of them waved mechanically as their introductions were read aloud, then crossed the threshold together and made for the edge of the floor. Malocoti seemed to have no interest in dancing, so Pidge didn't push the issue. In fact, she seemed to be searching for someone.

 

“Looking for Allura?” Pidge guessed.

 

“No,” Malocoti replied quickly. “Why? Is she looking at me?”

 

Allura was, standing strategically across the gallery and faded into a crowd, but Pidge wasn't about to say anything.

 

“No,” Pidge said, adding, “what's up with you two anyway?”

 

“I thought that you of all people would understand,” Malocoti muttered.

 

“Understand?”

 

“Allura isn't kind to people who aren't like Allura,” Malocoti explained. “And I am _nothing_ like Allura.”

 

Pidge nodded, and Malocoti searched her eyes for a moment. Whatever she was looking for, she must have found it, because she continued on:

 

“Do you know what it was like? To hear my father go on and on about, “Why can't you be more like Alfor’s girl? Alfor’s girl _loves_ playing in the juniberries! Alfor’s girl can fly an entire castle by herself! Be a dear and let Alfor's girl win at Primsby!” Alfor’s girl, Alfor's girl, _Alfor's girl_.”

 

In a beat, everything clicked into place.

 

“She is pretty bad at Primsby,” Pidge conceded.

 

“I _know_ ,” Malocoti moaned. “But half the kingdoms in the universe have her convinced otherwise, because she's good at the things that _matter_. Like this.”

 

Malocoti swept a hand across the space before her, indicating all the laughing, drinking, mingling people that she and Pidge were stood apart from.

 

“I'm not very good at this either,” Pidge admitted.

 

“I thought you might be the same,” Malocoti said, “but then you arrived in that _armor_ , with such a thoughtful gift—”

 

“I had a lot of help,” Pidge said, carefully taking her by the arm. “All my friends wanted to make this night special for you. Even her.”

 

Pidge nodded at Allura subtly.

 

“... In her way.”

 

Malocoti was quiet, her eyes unfocused on the distant crowds. “I suppose it was egotistical to think you only saw the truest form of _me_ ,” she said, dew collecting in her falling gaze. “I should have known that you see _everyone_ for what they truly are.”

 

“Yeah, but,” Pidge said, her words short and breathless but needing to be spoken. “I still came here just for you.”

 

Malocoti looked at her, then looked away, then tried again. It was an obvious struggle, and Pidge grinned as she reached for the princess's hand, finding her fingertips cold with sweat, same as hers.

 

“Wanna sneak away and play some Primsby?”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Malocoti said with a shuddering exhale, loosing the big, nervous breath she'd been holding. “If you don't mind me taking off this stupid corset.”

 

“Oh, I'm losing this dumb armor the second we're behind closed doors.”

 

“I'm allergic to flowers, you know. And… most everything else.”

 

“Don't worry, I've got an inhaler and four brands of allergy meds in my bag.”

 

Malocoti smirked and rested her head on Pidge's shoulder and it felt so, so good, so much better than anything she could have ever imagined.

 

“Sorry,” the princess whispered, “I'm sweating all over you.”

 

“I don't think that's you,” Pidge replied, tightening the hand around her waist and grinning so hard she saw stars. Or maybe those were just there, twinkling in her periphery all night long, as Malocoti taught Pidge a real lesson in gambits and rewards. In the morning, neither of them could recall who had won, but both parties agreed that a more passionate, evenly matched game had never been played before.

 

* * *

 

 

“So she hid away in her room for all those years because she was a _weirdo_?” Allura asked, borrowing a phrase from Lance and moving her alpha key four specs up.

 

“Can't imagine why,” Pidge replied, following the trail of sacrifices Allura had unwittingly left her. “You sound so supportive right now.”

 

“Pidge!” Allura shrieked. “You're not even giving me a _chance_. And what about her hideous attitude? I once tried to embrace her and she ran clear to the other side of the room! It was _humiliating_.”

 

“No more humiliating than sweating through the Altean princess's expensive new gown, I'm sure,” Pidge said, dropping her piece to give Allura a look. “Do you remember the first thing you said to us?”

 

“ 'Hail, glorious paladins of Voltron?’”

 

“More like, 'you’re hideous,’” Pidge corrected her.

 

“I did not!” Allura yelped, then quieted for a moment, her finger wilting in the air. “... I did, didn't I?”

 

Pidge nodded, and Allura came up beside her, sinking onto the arm rest of her chair, her thin arms winding around Pidge's shoulders.

 

“I have a lot of growing to do,” Allura admitted.

 

“Who doesn't?” Pidge said kindly.

 

“And so her intentions for you were…” Allura murmured, trying to hide her intrigue, but completely unable to.

 

Which she'd earned, Pidge guessed. Laughing, she replied, “Us nerds can spot each other from a galaxy away. Even if that nerd is... an... alien princess trapped inside a fire-breathing illusion.”

 

“But I'm still your favorite princess, right?” Allura asked in silvery sing-song, her eyes gleaming like polished aquamarine.

 

“You are,” Pidge said, her smile taking on a cruel twist, “still the _worst_ princess I've ever played in Primsby. Look at this board! It's **mine**!”

 

“ _PIDGE_!” Allura shrieked. Her screams and Pidge's malicious cackling echoed for a long time through the deck, fading into a single vibration, evocative of all the joy and understanding that one found at home with family.

 


End file.
